


Glory Days

by WatercolourSkies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23668159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatercolourSkies/pseuds/WatercolourSkies
Summary: A collection of Good Omens drabbles and pieces of flash fiction using a list of prompts as inspiration.Featuring drunken shenanigans, Crowley's love language and love confessions, some awkward, some heartfelt but, most importantly, all utterly ineffable.Note: All of these works are stand-alones. While some could be interpreted as fitting into the same timeline, this is not deliberate.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Glory Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you are already familiar with my account, you may know that it's been a while since I updated. I'm afraid that I was (and still am, to an extent) really bad writer's block which stopped me from updating Neither Occult nor Ethereal or writing much of anything new. This is an attempt to make myself write regularly again, because I do love it!  
> Anyway, this is, as the description suggests, a collection of Good Omens flash fiction I will write using a list of prompts I found on Tumblr a while ago. I'm afraid I don't know who wrote the prompts, so if anyone recognises them (note that I will be editing some of so they have different pronouns etc.), please let me know so I can credit the creator!

  1. Person A saying things that make Person B want to kiss them.



Aziraphale was in a bad mood, and he was having no qualms about making his feelings very clear over with Crowley over a bottle of wine. It was all Crowley could do to nod along and every now and then mutter, “Oh, yes, terrible,” before Aziraphale began a new paragraph of his rant. 

“I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: they were eating a _lollipop_.” He shook his head in disgust. “So of course their fingers were sticky, and with every page they turned, the stickier the poor book became.” 

It may not seem like there would be much to say about a child smearing their sticky fingers on an ornate book, and yet Aziraphale had managed to stretch his complaints out over twenty minutes so far, and he showed no sign of stopping. Crowley had quickly learnt that his insights were not wanted nor required in this conversation, as his defences of ‘they’re just a kid’ and (upon Aziraphale griping about how the child had bookmarked a corner of a page) ‘at least that means they were enjoying the book’ were met with groans and tuts and Aziraphale arguing that they should have known better. 

Crowley in no way minded listening to Aziraphale’s one-way conversation. He’d long ago realised that he would happily listen to the angel talk about anything for hours if it meant being with him, hearing his voice; better yet if Aziraphale was talking about something he was passionate about, because then it was all but impossible for Crowley not to care about it too, at least in that moment. 

Another benefit was that he got to look at him, really look at him, without seeming like he was staring. Aziraphale was beautiful, Crowley had always thought that, and even now – especially now – with his brow furrowed and mouth downturned, emitting sighs of disgruntlement and disbelief, all Crowley could see was someone who had to be the most perfect of Her creations, and someone he held so much love for that at times like these he couldn’t believe he had gone so long without ever saying it. Someone who at times like these, he would have given everything to kiss. 

Aziraphale seemed to shake himself from his rant-induced trance-like state, catching Crowley in his own. “Are you listening to me?” 

Crowley quickly forced his gaze away from Aziraphale’s impossibly soft-looking lips and back up to his eyes. “Um, yes.” He withered under Aziraphale’s dubious gaze. “Sorry, just thinking.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I hope what you were thinking about was very important, because I really need you to understand just how heinous what that child did was.” 

“Trust me,” Crowley said, “it was extremely important.”


End file.
